Wasn't a guess: he'd figured out where Virgil had gotten the information. Smart guy. "She did," Virgil said. "But she doesn't know who it was."

"Abby Sexton, editor at a specialty home-furnishings magazine down in the Cities," Mann said. "She never worked at the agency, but her husband does."

"Her husband. Okay. Was he gonna get fired?"

"That's possible. The word was, Erica would have left Ruth for Abby, but Abby sort of blew her off. Had her little fling, went back to Mark, and promptly got pregnant. Erica was really hosed about the pregnancy. That was one thing that Erica couldn't have given Abby. Anyway, Mark's an account guy. He's okay, not great. Firing him would have been a nice little piece of revenge, what with them having the new kid. Magazines don't pay enough to feed a canary."

Kara the bartender was at the far end of the bar, and Mann held up another finger. She rolled her eyes and started putting together another drink.

Virgil took out his notebook, wrote Abby Sexton in it, asked, "What magazine was that?"

Mann said, "Craftsman Ceramics, something like that. They specialize in Arts and Crafts tile and pottery and so on."

"You're a smart guy," Virgil said. "What else should I know?"

"I don't know. The Abby thing hadn't occurred to me, because I don't think like a cop. But I do take this hard, this murder. If I think of anything, I'll call you."

Virgil nodded and said, "Thanks-and I'll give you a call tomorrow morning about that list. If you could get me a phone number for Abby Sexton, that'd be a bonus." He caught the eye of the bartender, drifted out of the bar, turned left, and walked down toward the restrooms.

THE BARTENDER pushed through the back door a moment later, stepped close, and said, "You could lose me this job, and there aren't any more jobs like it. Not around here. So, I'd appreciate it if… you know."

Virgil nodded. He was like the Associated Press-lots of sources, all anonymous.

"I saw you with Zoe, getting in her car," Kara said. "You know she's gay?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the thing is, I like her fine-I'm straight, by the way-but I thought you should know that Zoe has had two short, mmm, involvements, with a girl named Wendy Ashbach, who's a country singer down in Grand Rapids."

"Sings at the Wild Goose," Virgil said.

She nodded. "Zoe told you? Anyway, Wendy has this longtime girlfriend named Berni Kelly…"

"The drummer?"

"Yes. You know, you're smarter than you look, picking up all this stuff."

"Thanks, I guess," Virgil said. "So there's a love triangle with Zoe and Berni and Wendy."

"Up until night before last," Kara said. "Then it became a rectangle. Or a pentagon."

"Yeah?"

"There were some women in here late, getting loaded. My deal is, I stay until they leave. So I got out of here late and walked down to my car when I saw Miz McDill's car pull into the parking lot. They didn't see me, I was down at the far end of the lot, where the employees park. Miz McDill and Wendy Ashbach get out of the car and walk around to the end of it, and Miz McDill throws a lip-lock on Wendy and Wendy gives it right back to her. So they're fooling around for a minute, which made me kinda hot, I gotta admit, and then they go sneaking off through the dark, toward Miz McDill's cabin. I don't know what happened the next morning, or if they snuck out early, or what."

"You didn't mention this to anyone?" Virgil asked.

"No, but if somebody saw them the next morning, the word would have gotten around," Kara said. "A lot of the lesbos know Wendy, and they know she's hot and likes girls, and if McDill got her in the sack, everybody would have been interested."

"Huh."

"That's exactly what I thought. Huh." She glanced down the hall. "I gotta go…"

"Listen, Kara… don't tell anybody about this. There's a crazy woman around here and you don't want to attract her attention."

"No shit, Sherlock," she said. "My last name's Larsen. I'm in the Grand Rapids phone book. If you need to ask me any more questions, call me. Don't talk to me here."

VIRGIL FOUND MARGERY STANHOPE in the main office, alone, staring out the window at the darkening lake. She turned in the chair when Virgil stepped in and asked, "Figured it out?"

"Not yet. Margery: if you knew anything at all that might put some light on this thing-or even if something unusual happened with Miss McDill in the last day or two, behavior-wise, you'd be sure and tell me, right?"

She said, "Something happened. What happened? Why did you ask that?"

"I'm wondering who spent the night in McDill's cabin, night before last, and why nobody's telling me about it," Virgil said.

Stanhope sat up straight: "Night before last? I know nothing about that. I don't spy on people-but I should have heard. I would have heard, if it were true."

"You don't think it's true? I've got it on pretty good authority."

She said, "Let me go talk to people. I'll find out."

"Do that," Virgil said. "Let me give you my cell phone number. Call me anytime."

5

NINE O'CLOCK, and Virgil rolled out of the resort into the dark, called Zoe Tull. She answered, and he picked up a soft Norah Jones-style sound behind her. "You going to the Wild Goose tonight?" he asked.

"I could, but… I usually stay away on nights when Wendy is singing. She likes to come over and pull on my tits. If you know the expression."

"I don't, actually. I mean, I've pulled on a few tits, both human and bovine, but I've-"

"She comes over and chats, like she thinks there's no problem and we're still good friends, and she pushes Berni in my face," Zoe said.

"Berni's the drummer? The one with the cowboy boots and the nice whachacallums."

"Yeah. She calls herself Raven. Like the Edge, or Slash."

"Well, if they come over, you could come slide in the booth next to me and put your hand on my thigh," Virgil said.

"I don't think that'd mean anything to her," Zoe said.

"Mean a lot to me, though," Virgil said. "I miss the woman's touch."

After a moment of silence, she laughed long, and said, "I really like that crude shitkicker side of you. All right. I'll take you to the Goose."

"Good. I've got a question I need to ask you," Virgil said.

"Can't ask on the telephone?"

"Cell phones are radios," Virgil said. "You never know who's listening."

"That's paranoid," she said. "But… I wouldn't mind going. Pick me up at the house, or meet me there?"

"Since there's no chance I can get you drunk and take advantage of you, I'll meet you there," Virgil said. "Be quicker, and I'm going south tonight."

"The Cities?"

Virgil nodded at his reflection in the windshield. "Yeah."

"I thought you'd be up here for the duration," Zoe said.

"I need to get some stuff-I'll be back tomorrow."

"Fifteen minutes," she said. "Wait for me in the parking lot if you get there first. We can go in together."

He stuck the phone back in his pocket, caught the yellow-white-diamond eyeblink in the ditch at the last possible moment, and stood on the brakes. A doe wandered into the headlights, stopped directly in front of the truck, fifteen feet away, and looked at him, then hopped off toward the other side of the road.

He waited, and another doe, and then a third, crossed in front of him, like ladies going first through the supermarket door. When he thought the last of them had crossed, he eased forward again, keeping watch: saw a half-dozen more deer in the ditches, but had no more close calls.

HE WAITED FIVE MINUTES for Zoe. She pulled in, hopped out of her Pilot, came across the parking lot wearing a frilly white low-cut blouse that showed her figure, tight jeans that showed the rest of her figure, and fancy dress cowboy boots made out of the skins of chicken testicles, or some such, with embossed red roses.